


30 Love Challenge: Late Edition

by seademons



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mental Health Issues, On Hiatus, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seademons/pseuds/seademons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theorically, thirty days of Josh and Sam falling in and out of love, in a series of scenarios where they try to make it work. From childhood friends, through high school, the death of Josh's sisters and beyond. Mostly in canon universe with small alterations. It's a twisted 30 day OTP challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On one of their birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> What if Sam wasn't a saint as a child? The worst children turn out to be the best, sometimes.

She can hear them outside, the joyful shouts of competitive friendship all across the small soccer field, taunting her, reminding her of what she’s missing. Reminding her of the fun that’s going on just a few feet away from her, in the backyard of this devilish playhouse. The fun she’s not having. “Hannah, I’m sorry, but...” Her voice escapes her when her friend shoves a doll into her arms, pushing her into the little bedroom. “Shh, don’t wake him.” Hannah motions to the plastic baby while whispering, as if the incessant shouting from the field isn’t deafening in itself. The incessant shouting that’s probably much louder to Sam’s ears. “But I don’t want to _be_ here,” she whispers back, playing along to something she never wanted to be a part of in the first place, “I want to ball with the boys.” Hannah shoots her a dirty glare, snatching the doll from her with a betrayed heart. “You never play house with me,” she says in a sullen tone, dropping her eyes to the beady ones in her arms. A tinge of guilt pierces Sam in the chest and she’s rendered unable to proceed. She can’t dismiss a blatant truth but she doesn’t want to succumb to infinite hours of torture, either.

The winner alternative emerges in a hockey mask, swinging a toy machete around. Sam’s lungs are immediately filled with hope. “Why don’t you play with Josh instead?” She offers Hannah a wide smile, watching the boy approach them with comically heavy steps. “He’s always dressed up and around the house anyway.” She waves vaguely in his direction, turning away for one second and being instantly poked in the back with the toy machete. It stings more than it should. “Don’t _do_ that!” She reprehends him loudly, promptly, punching the machete away and shoving him in the chest. He stumbles back with a choked laugh muffled by the mask. “See? That’s why I don’t play with him,” Hannah says from her corner, shielding the doll with both arms, “that’s why nobody does.” Sam’s glare softens a little at that last comment but immediately resumes when Josh tugs the mask up his forehead and steps toward his sister, easily towering over her, angry and loud. “Hey, don’t give me that shit! It’s _my_ birthday!” His tone scares Hannah, making her close her eyes shut and hug the baby tightly, turning away from him.

In a fit of sheer instinct, Sam pulls him backward by the back of his shirt, nearly ripping it off of him, nearly choking him. He shoves her with a hand to pry himself free and she shoves him back, pushing him against the wall. “Stay away from her!” Her voice is firm and loud, holding authority with each word. She’s right up in his personal space and can see something twist in his face at that. Something pained. Before she can really identify it, he’s pushing her away and stomping out to the door, wordless. She watches him leave with a dark smirk on her face. “Happy birthday, asswipe!”


	2. Doing something sweet

He’s been crying, she can tell. His eyes are puffy and red and he’s wildly defensive when people approach him, more so than usual. He’s sitting in the far back of the playground at lunch, where nobody really goes to because all of the cool toys and sand boxes are in the center. His table and that whole side are abandoned. Alone, he flips his lunchbox open, as if not minding the lack of company. Maybe used to it by now.

She watches him from the classroom door but has her eyes peeled away when Mike hollers at her, inviting her to shoot hoops with the boys. For as much as she would love to, something tells her to approach Josh instead. Maybe apologize for the fiasco at his birthday, maybe make him company, maybe ask him why he’s been crying. So she tells Mike to go on ahead, she’ll catch up. He doesn’t think twice before making a run for the basketball court.

The long shadow creeping across the colored tabletop announces her presence and makes Josh pause mid-bite, staring silently at it. She gives him a second to look up, which he takes, and is met with a pair of watery eyes and stuffed cheeks. Her heart breaks. “Hey,” she says and her voice is far too soft, too transparent, “can I have a seat?” His eyes drop back down and he nods, chewing on his peanut butter sandwich without a word. She slides onto the stool directly across from him and rests her apple on the table. They sit for a while in silence.

Various different sentences form on her head to say to him, to approach him with, to get him talking—why is he crying, why is he alone, why does his sandwich have no jelly—but none of them get past her lips. They all die on her tongue, leaving a bitter taste of vacillation behind. So she unwraps her apple, still thinking, still grinding gears, stalling, distracting herself, clueless as how to approach him, _really_ approach him. She takes a bite and nothing forms correctly in her brain, it’s all scrambled and senseless and lost, lost because all of her attention suddenly refocuses on the single tear dripping down his nose a second before he rubs a hand over it, holding back a sniffle. She swallows awkwardly, setting the apple down. Her whole being screams at her to ask him, just _ask him_ , but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. She stuffs the apple back in.

Five minutes until the bell rings and she hasn’t said a word. They’re both done eating, lunchbox shut closed and apple remains in the trashcan, but neither has left the table. Her hands are folded on her lap, impatient thumbs twirling around each other, and his eyes are still on the tabletop separating them. It feels like he refuses to look at her, meet eyes with her and let her see him. Let her read him. She doesn’t know how to coax him into it and ends up letting time slip away, bring their little reunion increasingly closer to its end. It’s inevitable but she only hopes to _say_ something before going back to class. Before going back to not approaching him anymore. She fails. When the bell rings, it’s him who speaks instead. “Thanks for having lunch with me,” he says in a small voice before finally, _finally_ glancing up at her. His black eyes are dry and there’s the hint of a smile on his lips when he gets up to leave. She doesn’t have time to answer, only to watch him go with a similar smile of her own.


	3. Doing something ridiculous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you kiss your soulmate in middle school, is it true love?

“This is so stupid,” she laughs nervously, leaning her back on one side of the closet, the one furthest from the door, furthest from him. Both of her shoulders are raised up, tense, and one of her hands is clutching her elbow as he slides the closet door closed. “I know, truth or dare is for babies and Beth is super immature.” His voice drifts into the pitch blackness toward her, around a feet or two in front of her, then mingles with the sounds of his feet shuffling around and his hands rustling hanging jackets. He’s looking for something. “She got truth or dare confused with seven minutes in Heaven.” She speaks with a small tremble in her voice as her heart goes on a rampage trying to leave her body through the ribs. Nervous is an understatement, she’s terrified. “Only on purpose.” He says while turning on the single light bulb that’s precariously hanging above their heads, lighting up the small space. She hadn’t noticed before but he’s blushing.

Being able to see his face makes it harder to ignore the reality of the situation, the impending inevitability of it, which cools her blood and pales her skin on the spot. “Why did you turn the light on?” She sounds as breathless as she feels and her question makes him blush harder. He quickly flips the switch again before answering, in total darkness, “I don’t know.” Then, a moment later, as she catches her breath he says, “Sorry.” He means it, his voice sheepish and genuine. She sets her jaw, pushing herself away from the corner and one step closer to where she last saw him, where he’s still probably standing. “It’s okay,” she whispers to him, reaching out a hand that meets his stomach, “I’m not scared of the dark.” No response. She runs her fingertips up his shirt, softly above the fabric, past his chest and up to the collar. The frantic movement of his heart is worse than hers, reverberating his nervousness all across his skin. She smiles to herself, glad that he can’t see it, taking comfort in knowing he’s feeling the same.

“Can I?” She asks and her voice is soft, softer than before, nearly inaudible, dissipating in the small gap between them. “Yes,” is his reply, just as barely there as her question, reaching her ears through a miracle. She bites on the insides of her cheeks, nervousness coming back to her in waves as her fingertips trace up his neck and meet his jaw, right in front of hers, inches away, inches that are easily closed off and sealed by their lips.


	4. The incident of 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't know how it went down.

A nice, spring breeze sweeps through the playground, lightly ruffling her hair as she starts the stroll back to the building, back to class. Leisurely, taking her time, appreciating the clear skies and chiseled clouds on the meanwhile. Her classmates pass by running and are all way ahead of her, sheltering themselves from the sun underneath the building’s roof. But the air is crisp and deliciously filled with the nectar of roses and wisterias, bringing a smile to her face and swelling her heart twice its size, not hurrying her to class at all. In a day like this, in a mood like this, the only person who can possibly ruin it all is Josh Washington.

She spots him hugging himself under the shadow of a tree, pacing back and forth, very focused on something. He’s never very focused on anything and the rare sight of him outdoors is curious in itself, so she walks over, skipping lightly in her doll shoes, weightless. He doesn’t see her approaching, so she surprises him with a hug from behind. It startles him to such a degree that he yelps, going rigid in her arms. She laughs heartily. “Hey, silly. What are you...” Her smile fades and her voice escapes her when she spots the bleeding body next to him, a student, unconscious behind the bushes. She slowly lets go of him, eyes fixed on the body, on the blood. Her blood pressure drops, her heart stops and she goes pale. The student looks dead. “Oh my God...” A whisper, breathless and horrified, mortified, leaves her lips behind a hand, her own hand, white and trembling. Her knees threaten to buckle under her weight, suddenly heavy, suddenly there.

“I’m sorry,” comes Josh’s voice, small and apologetic and scared, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m...” He sobs, he’s crying, he’s still pacing next to her but she’s not looking. She can’t look away from the body on the floor. Paralyzed, scarred. “What did you do?” Her tone is soft but present, slowly recovering, slowly adjusting and processing and understanding and _fearing_. “What did you _do_?” Firmer voice, louder as she whips around to face him. Still crying, still pacing, he’s covering his face with both hands, sobbing in them. “Josh, _what did you do_?” She takes his wrists and pries his hands away, forcefully and angry, angry for the student, angry out of fear, unsure of their vital state. There’s blood on Josh’s face, on his hands, on his split knuckles and he cries. The sight shocks her a second time, makes her take a step back, scared, dropping his wrists and adding space between them. “I didn’t mean to,” he chokes out between sobs, having trouble to breathe, having trouble staying on both feet. Her eyes fall back on the body next to them and she can’t find it in herself to say anything else. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he cries out loudly, hugging himself again in a physical attempt to keep it together but failing, failing and wailing and breaking down into a mess.

She flicks her eyes from the body, to him, to the security supervision approaching them a few feet away. The adults don’t seem to have noticed anything different yet, from that distance, so she takes another step back. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is quiet and scared as she continues adding space between them, feet after feet, backing further away and leaving.


	5. Gazing into each other's eyes

Despite previous friendships or relationships or even the deepest bonding two people can have, P.E. brings it all down, all that is known and loved about each person is broken apart and destroyed only to be replaced with a binary system that weeds everybody out, with no exceptions, into the group of those who take the class far too seriously and those who hate it. Now Sam never meant to be in the douchebag side, it just sort of happened. Her friends are pretty much all there, too, and her early passion for sports and exercise ended up, sort of, dumping her there. She never meant to take a match of soccer so seriously, or basketball, or even dodge ball but her enthusiasm and passion for victory drove her there. Drove her to being the asshole who gets into the hype of it, the heat of it, the murderous stance against every opponent on the way to scoring that point.

She also never meant to be up against Josh with only a volleyball net separating them. Sure, it was entirely her fault for ditching the girls’ game and sneaking into the gym court to fill Chris’s empty spot on Mike’s team while the coach wasn’t looking but she didn’t know Josh of all people would be directly against her. She didn’t even notice it at first, only when they rotated for the third time and there he was, right in front of her, staring back at her. Shorts far too short, shirt hugging his biceps far too well, hair perfectly messed up and eyes as dark as she remembered them. As big as she remembered them. Not as watery as she remembered but this is better. This is far better.

When she steps up to the net, he does the same, putting on a fake game face to impress. She lifts a skeptical brow at him, unable to keep from smiling. “You really think you’re gonna win this, Washington?” She speaks around a smirk and his game face dissolves into a friendly grin, the very one she’s used to. The very first one she ever kissed. “Bad news, boy, you’re going down.” Her voice is sugar-coated poison and he knows it, his grin widens at it. Her eyes glare up at him through narrow slits. “Doesn’t sound too bad,” he speaks leisurely with a suggestive bounce of the brows and her eyes narrow further. He laughs once, just as the whistle blows and Mike serves from the back corner. She watches as his eyes peel away from her and over to the ball bouncing behind her, from people to people, as the match resumes.


	6. Eating ice cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart goes out to everyone who had their wisdom teeth taken out in high school.

The Washington residence looks deserted from the sidewalk and she suddenly feels like backing down. This is a bad idea, this is _stupid_. She shouldn’t have come here, wasted twenty minutes in a bus to visit him and then change her mind the moment she reaches her destination. She should’ve second-guessed herself before hopping into the wrong bus, not while already standing in fucking Beverly Hills. She clearly wasn’t thinking this through but simply following instincts, letting some ideal reconciliation scenario lure her over. As if she would get here and he’d let her in, _really_ let her in, they’d have some ice cream, share a moment together and magically become friends again. Become close again.

 The undulating situation with Josh is the way it is and has always been; she just needs to come to terms with it herself. Something she’s never managed to do. Losing him and winning him over again and again is tiring, sure, it’s frustrating and painful, yes, it’s confusing, obviously, but it’s only the magnitude that it is because of whatever mixed feelings she has trapped inside herself that don’t seem to figure themselves out. Is he a best friend to her and it hurts because she’s only a regular friend to him, is he mysterious and indecipherable because he’s out of reach, does she feel like he doesn’t trust her enough to open up and let her in, are his loneliness and distance so painful to her because she doesn’t see anyone reaching out to salvage him, or does she really just want him to ask her to prom? Give her any attention, step out of his little world for once, see her. _See her_ , see that she’s there, that she exists.

See that she’s been doing nothing but wonder about him since day one. Worry about him, think about him, wonder why he’s hasn’t showed up for class in the last two days, wonder why he doesn’t acknowledge her in the halls anymore when he did just yesterday, wonder why he didn’t talk to her for a week but suddenly he’s talking to her again, why does he forget about her, about her existence, for two days, three, a week, a month, only to suddenly sit at her table after so much silence and chat her up like nothing’s happened, nothing’s been wrong or different and she hasn’t noticed a thing? The unanswered questions, the dodged subjects, the late texts and ignored calls. He’s unreachable, he’s far away and clearly doesn’t want to be touched. She should’ve stopped trying. Stopped asking if he’s okay, what happened, where had he been, why the long sleeves in the summer and the long silence out of the blue. He doesn’t want her in and she should just accept that, so why is she standing right in front of his house on a Sunday afternoon, ringing his doorbell when she knows he’s the only one home?

He answers. Hannah was right, his cheeks are huge and the drugs make him look even more tired than usual. It immediately tugs a heartstring inside her, just the sight of him like this, post-surgery and uncomfortable. She must be frowning because he mirrors it, surprised. “Sam?” His voice is weak and hoarse with a small lisp, probably due to how ineffectively his jaw moves in this state. Her blood runs cold. “Hey, Josh. Is this a bad time?” Alternatively, is this okay? Her visit, her being here, her coming to him, her breaking the silence for once and forcing their lives together again. Is that okay? He watches her for a moment, as if incredulous, maybe confused, thoroughly confused, and she waits. Patiently on the outside, a nervous wreck beneath the surface. He blinks. “Sure, come in.” His lisp is strong and his lips barely move. A sudden urge to kiss him comes over her, but doesn’t overcome her—it’s breathed in and then breathed out. She walks past.

 “Hannah told me you had your wisdom teeth removed and, I don’t know. She said it made you upset and that you, um. Sorry, I probably should’ve called.” It’s coming back to her, the apprehension, the self-doubt, the inclination to go back and leave him like she’s done so many times before. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t trust her, because she’s never been someone reliable. It might not be a matter of him refusing to entrust her with his feelings out of sheer will, but her never being capable of handling them.

She smiles, tight and awkward and he sees right through her. She knows he does. “It’s fine,” he says while closing the door, “I’m, uh.” He cuts himself abruptly, blushing. Her brows shoot up to her hairline as he turns his face aside to avoid her eyes. It makes her heart still. He opens his mouth again but the words are far different, the repressed feelings from before locked away again. What could’ve been said was not. “Thanks for the visit, that’s—,” he pauses and nods slightly, refusing to meet her stare, “That’s really nice of you.” Not half what she wanted to hear but it still brings a smile to her lips and a warm sensation to her chest. She missed this, the quiet between them, his presence in hers. His physicality. “Do you want anything?” His eyes are on the kitchen door across the foyer, directing his question there rather than to the visit. It reminds her why she’s even standing here in the first place.

“Oh, I actually have something for you.” She reaches into her jacket’s pockets, keenly aware of how fast his eyes finally flick over to her direction until she retrieves what she was looking for. “Two ice cream coupons from Ben & Jerry’s. I got this today and thought of you.” Her smile is genuine this time, with a couple of burning cheeks as she hands him one of the coupons. It takes him a short moment to accept it, as a delayed reaction. Their eyes meet again before he thanks her.

Something in the way he’s not slobbering himself with his double scoop is oddly fascinating to her, like she expected a big mess instead, for some reason. The surgery was two days ago, his mouth isn’t numb anymore and it never affected his motor skills in the first place. She’s not sure why her eyes keep finding his face every time her spoon travels up to her mouth, she’s just glad that his don’t do the same. His eyes barely leave his ice cream at all. The two of them aren’t talking, simply sitting in silence, so the attention he pays to eating is absolute. She has little to no part in this. In fact, she’s never really had a part in any of it.


	7. Holding hands

The music is loud, the people are screaming over it to hear each other and her head is starting to pound with its hypnotic rhythm. She’s sweaty and tired and her feet hurt in these heels. Dressing up as Lola from the Loved Ones, in retrospect, might not have been her best idea. It seemed good before the heels were on, now it’s too late. Now she’s stuck in this pink dress and crown, with aching feet and a tortured spine. Defeated, she leans on one of the living room walls to sip on her water. She’s only still around because Hannah begged her to come and she’d never say no the host.

The amount of people canned together in this one room almost makes it unrecognizable, all the bodies blocking the end of it and sprawling themselves all over the furniture. Beth is nowhere to be seen, probably shouting her throat off about it, her only memory being the family portrait on the wall above the fireplace. Hannah is also lost in the middle of the entire school year, which is pretty much taking over the party and hosting it themselves at this point. The point of no return. Luckily, the parents are out of town. Sam wonders if Josh went with them or where he might be; she hasn’t seen him all night. She actually hasn’t seen him in a while. A good while. He barely even goes to school anymore. Not that he’s ever really attended it regularly to begin with.

Alone and lost from her friends, she hugs the wall with careful steps, making her way to the foyer and crossing it toward the stairway. The upper floors are generally off-limits during parties but that doesn’t register in her mind when she starts climbing the stairs, cringing at each pained step. She only pauses at the top to remove the shoes—no need for them on this carpeted floor. One hand carrying the pair and the other an empty cup, she walks down the wide hallway to Hannah’s room, where she usually leaves her purse while visiting. The social conditions implied by the party only fully register in her mind the moment she doesn’t find her purse. She’s not supposed to be up here but drops the heels by the foot of the bed anyway, taking a seat on the mattress. Sighing, tired, in pain. Hannah might have a painkiller in the hallway bathroom.

She does. In fact, she has a whole lot more than that. Analgesics and prescription pills fill up the cabinet with half-empty bottles of Prozac, Cymbalta and Elavil as well as full bottles of Phenelzine, also scattered haphazardly across the countertop by the sink. Sam frowns, swallowing a handful of tap water along with her painkiller. These obviously are Josh’s but what are they really for? She’s never really known. He’s never really talked about it. The family skirts around it and he distances himself from everyone, which renders this all a mystery. So she unlocks her phone and does a quick research. Brand names, all antidepressants. She frowns harder, her heart sinks and the screen goes black.

A sudden urge to see him fills her lungs like air. Not sure if he’s in the house or even in the city, her best bet would be his bedroom. The door is closed and if there’s any sound escaping through it, she can’t hear it over the downstairs music. He might not hear her knocking, if he’s there, but she knocks anyway. Once, twice, thrice and louder, finally trying the door at the lack of response. It’s unlocked, so she peeks inside. The room is dark, the curtains are drawn and the streak of hallway light casting in from behind her allows her to see a horizontal silhouette on the bed. She exhales, closing the door. The music might awake him. Is he even asleep? That might be a dummy. He might be dead.

The thought seizes her breathing. Dead. All cognitive reasoning escapes her as she reopens the door and quickly slips inside, closing it softly behind her. She needs to make sure he’s really there, breathing. This is all probably ridiculous, irrational and absurd, but she has a hunch and needs to debunk it. _Has_ to debunk it, so she steps further in, toward the bed in absolute darkness. She doesn’t need vision to know where it is, she can navigate this room as if it’s her own. She’s always been able to.

Approaching the side of the bed, she touches the edge of the mattress with a hand, following it round until she’s circled to the side he sleeps in. She pushes a palm toward the center of the mattress and reaches him after a second, huddled up in two blankets. The much she can touch is warm, she exhales. Is this his arm? Her hand runs along the bundle of sleeping person up to where the edge of the blankets meets his face. The back of her fingers touch his skin and it’s warm, soft. She’s smiling, barely noticing it, running her fingers up to his hair, long and silky, cards her fingers through it, lovingly, carefully. He inhales loudly and stirs. She freezes.

Her hand quickly withdraws as he shifts some more, rustling the blankets with his moving. She covers her mouth, suddenly ashamed, suddenly caught. He exhales loudly and she can imagine the frown on his face. “Who’s this?” His voice is hoarse and tired in the darkness engulfing them. She blushes, unable to speak. Silence. “Sam...?” Quieter now, unsure. She wishes she could see his face. “Hey,” she finally says, softly and apologetic, “Sorry for waking you.” He sighs curtly, moving around more. She takes a step back out of precaution. “Where are you? Why...” He clears his throat and she can see a faint silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed now, her eyes better adjusted to the darkness but still partially blind. She reaches a hand and touches his shoulder, squeezing it, telling him her position. He takes her wrist. “What are you doing here?” He sounds confused and lost and she laughs once, letting go of his shoulder and taking his hand instead. He holds it firmly, swiping a thumb over the back. She smiles. “There’s a party downstairs,” she says quietly, stepping closer to him until their legs touch, “but I felt like ditching it. How did you know it was me?”

There’s silence and she can picture the smile on his face with his big, brown eyes looking up at her. Their memory well stored in her mind. “Your perfume, it’s the same since fourth grade.” She lifts a brow at his reply, his voice shy between them. Her smile widens. “Nice job, Rudolf,” she speaks with a laugh, leaning down to press her lips against his forehead, “I’ve missed you.”


	8. Doing something together

Shit, not a group project. The teacher isn’t done talking but Sam’s eyes are already scanning the classroom from back to back, trying to find a desk that’s not yet moving to link with another. Her luck dies down in a span of seconds, leaving her to slump back on the chair with a frustrated sigh. It would be so much easier if projects came with groups attached to them so she wouldn’t stress herself out so much over finding someone, especially in a desert land where no human being is worth interacting with and the only one remotely worth of her time hasn’t talked to her in a long while. In years, really. It seems so distant now, the last time she heard his voice, the last time he said her name, the last time he really looked at her. Sure, his sisters are still her best friends but they have no necessary connection with him. In fact, from what they’ve told her, he’s been just as distant from them as he has been from everybody. Even Chris. It would be weird if it hadn’t been a gradual process.

“Hey,” a timid whisper reaches her from the right just above the background noise, so she turns. She turns and she almost faints. “Do you have a pair yet?” He’s been in this class the whole semester and this is the first time he’s approaching her at all. The first time he’s even acknowledging her. What happened to the last two years of total silence? She almost wants to answer yes. She even opens her mouth to say it but cuts herself right before, opting for the truth last minute. Not because of any moral echo but her own curiosity. If he’s talking to her, then she’s talking to him, too. Bitterly, as he deserves.

His desk clinks against hers as he scoots over, backpack and textbook in tow. “Thanks,” he says, sparing her a quick glance that she meets with a fake smile. “Sure,” she replies with the sort of plastic candor reserved for plastic people, the Barbies and Kens of the year. He must’ve noticed because his shoulders tense and he refuses to look at her again. Glancing back to her desk, she flips the textbook open. No words, no further attention, just individual work. Which is all that group projects end up being, individual work and community grades. She’s used to it.

The period goes by in restless silence, awkward and uncomfortable. She steals masked glances over at him every now and then from the corner of her eye to check on what he’s doing, reading the assigned chapter and highlighting a few passages from it. The same as everyone else. Once done, he becomes jittery, his leg bouncing under the desk. She hides a smile in her pages, finishing up the chapter herself and proceeding to rip a page out of her binder. Silence as she writes down their names, the feeling of his eyes on the back of her head not as bad as it could be. She’s shielded by her own bitterness. Glancing up at the clock, they have fifteen minutes until lunch.

“Well?” She finally says, looking up to meet his eyes. His brows are raised and he’s speechless. His face is just as full-fleshed and round as the last time he was this physically close to her, when he was an awkward pre-teen. When they still talked. “Do you have anything to say to me?” Her tone is raspy and rude, just as intended. It makes him flinch. He threatens to open his mouth and answer but stops. Resumes and stops, changing his mind multiple times until finally settling with, “No.” Disappointing. She nods curtly before turning back around to face her textbook. “Well, you can leave early, then. I’ll bring the project done next week.” All that she wanted to hear him apologize for, all of those repressed and emended feelings, the holes he’s left behind—it doesn’t matter, now. It’s clear that they’ve changed, that they’ve been brought apart. Wishing for what they used to be is pointless.


	9. Kissing

Senior prom is tonight and she doesn’t want to go. On a perfect scenario she would love nothing more but this year’s been chaotic. Not for her personally, but by proxy, only because she pays too much attention to Josh Washington and too little to herself, to anything else. He hasn’t attended school this year, not one day. One single day. His attendance has never been spotless but this is too much, even for him. One entire year without showing up, he might as well not even be in school anymore. He actually might not be. She doesn’t know, they don’t talk. He comes and goes, his presence is so fleeting, fluctuating in mid-existence, that she can never get a good hold of him. He’s always being sent away and skipping class and she doesn’t know what’s going on with him, if he’s okay, if the pills are working, if he’s getting worse, if he will ever be able to go home and _stay_.

She’s clueless and prom won’t answer any of her questions. It’s not what she needs right now—but she promised Mike she’d be his pair. His relationship with Emily is in despair, meaning she ditched him a week before and is now going with Jessica, so he asked Sam, who had managed to stay blissfully uncommitted with the whole deal until then. She accepted only because that’s what friends do for each other. Hannah was more than just a little upset about it but that side effect never reached her mind until the damage was done. Apologizing was useless.

Despite her own feelings, the night is perfect. Cloudless sky and warm spring breeze engulfing the gym court, her and her friend. The silk of her red dress nice against her skin and the frilly pashmina scarf caressing her shoulders. She takes Mike’s arm when they walk in to meet with the rest of the senior year, swaying with the music and hitting the punch early. They both grab a glass each and hit the dance floor, bringing bad dance moves and even worse sense of rhythm, but tons and tons of fun. It’s not nearly as bad as she thought it’d be. Mike is funny and the punch is sweet and his lips are sweet and they laugh a lot. They dance and trip over each other and the music is intoxicating and his remarks are to die for and she’s breathless from so much laughing and moving and they have to stop for a while. They sit on the bleachers and chat and he makes her choke on her drink. She slaps his arm, laughing, then kisses his cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, wiping her smeared lipstick off his cheek with a thumb, “won’t be a minute.” He nods, grinning still, and watches her hop back down to ground level before disappearing through the double doors. In reality, the amount of sweaty bodies pushing against each other to the sound of the loud music is becoming too much for her and she needs some air. She needs silence and a chilly breeze on her overheated skin, less alcohol in her system and more food in her stomach.

Outside is nice. The air is cooler and the night is quieter. She smiles to herself, wrapping the scarf around her upper arms while watching the sky. No stars are in sight but the moon shines brightly down on her, lighting the parking lot with its dim glow. She glances around in an already much improved mood, out of anything better to do, and her attention focuses on the closest tree to the gym, a big top underneath a lamppost that forms a large, dark shadow on the ground. A shadow that has someone in it. Someone leaning on the tree trunk, hugging themselves, reminding her of a blocked off memory from her mind. It surfaces in her frontal lobe and has her walking toward it before she can fully grasp what she’s doing. She’s stepping under the shadow without a second thought.

Familiar eyes meet her own. Not only familiar eyes but a familiar height and build as well. A face she knows. Her heart skips a beat as they stare immobile at each other. He looks just as surprised as she feels. “What are you doing here?” She finally asks, holding the stare that he refuses to break. He blinks, still in shock, still unsure how to proceed. Opens his mouth once, closes it and opens it again. His signature move. “Nothing,” he says. She frowns. There’s a pause in which she raises a palm to go with her indignant look. “What? Josh, what are you doing _here_? Do you even go to this school anymore?” A pained expression passes across his face as she speaks, dropping his eyes to the ground for a moment before bringing them back up, at her own. She has so much to ask, so much to say, but one thing at a time. No rushing anything now that he’s right in front of her, right here. Present. She’s not letting him escape now.

“No, I don’t know,” he finally says, quietly, looking shy, “I wanted to attend prom, I guess.” His voice is too small for comfort, lacking any further words. This is weird. He looks uncomfortable, his feet shuffling on the patchy grass under the tree-top shadow. She nods absently in response, knowing she’s scowling because the deep crease in her eyebrow can be felt all across her forehead. Something’s wrong, this isn’t the funny, careless guy she knows, who hits on every living being every two seconds. Who is this? “Did you just say no? So you changed schools?” If that wasn’t a little obvious from his lack of attendance already, she asks anyway, just to hear it from him. To know it’s legit. “I dropped out,” he says and he sounds sheepish. Sorry, even. It makes her throat go dry. She searches his eyes for something, a hint of anything, a reason, a bigger problem, but he’s not looking at her. All he can see is the ground and that’s all his glassy eyes reflect. She’s lost.

“... Why?” A whisper, barely anything above that. Her voice is gone. He looks up and she can’t see herself in his eyes. He looks more lost than she feels. “I can’t... Do it, Sam. I can’t do it.” He shakes his head, bringing his shoulders up as he hugs himself tighter. Like he used to do when the big kids confronted him. She swallows thickly and sets her jaw. “Can’t do _what_ , Josh? What battle are you losing?” She grabs his upper arms firmly, taking a step into his personal space. It further upsets him. He draws in a sharp breath but stays put, almost flinching, drawn into himself. Closed off. She wants to shake him. Every fiber of her muscles tells her to shake him, shake him violently and _scream_ , watch his head jerk back with the sheer force of her hands, but she doesn’t. The frustration inside of her is through the roof but he shouldn’t be the one to take it. She tells herself, even if he’s the cause of it. So she doesn’t shake him, she squeezes his arms instead, digging her nails into the fabric of his shirt. It scares him. He searches her eyes through a frown, although not very diligently, in a loose attempt to read her. To understand her. She knows he won’t see it unless she spells it out for him so she does, she yanks him down and closes the distance between their lips.

Their teeth clash and their noses bump, it’s a mess, it’s hard and forceful and it hurts but he kisses her back with the same amount of raw harshness, leaning over her, nearly falling, forcing her to take a step back to keep the both of them in balance. She almost wants to end it, stop the swelling on her lips and the aching in her heart, but she just keeps kissing him instead, for some reason, keeps meeting his lips halfway and biting them, kissing them, kissing _him_ , over and over until his hands are on her face, on her neck, threatening to touch her hair and he’s kissing her harder, his lips are warm and they hurt and her nails are digging into his skin, his biceps cut clean open in her hands and he hisses, kisses, breathes her in. A sob gets caught in her throat, their foreheads pressed together, their noses lined up. If she opens her eyes he might be looking at her. He might not. Unsure of what she might find in his face, she imagines it instead, a perfect memory behind her eyelids. She bites her lip and smiles and she imagines him smiling, too. That’s all she wants, to see his smile again. His fingers brush her jaw and the skin behind her neck and she kisses him once more. She feels the smile against her lips.


	10. Hanging out with friends

Chris looks smug for some reason. She _really_ doesn’t like it. “Never have I ever...,” he says slowly, stalling, throwing a glance around the full perimeter of the circle before continuing, his eyes paying extra attention to the empty shot glasses before each person, “... Regretted a one-night stand.” A pause. Hands are unmoving on the rim of shot glasses while eyes flick from one side of the circle to the other, judging, daring, curious to see the first one to do it. “But you’re a virgin,” Josh breaks the silence, sending all eyes flying to Chris, who shrugs, still smug. “So? My point stands.” It’s true. Josh recognizes that with an eye roll that almost misses Mike tipping his glass upside-down in one go. The crowd inhales sharply, Emily looks especially interested. Mike and her exchange a brief look before she empties her glass as well. Brows are raised but silence reigns. Jess is next, groaning loudly afterwards, drawing all eyes on herself. “He had a small dick,” is all she offers as explanation and that’s enough for all of them. Piling her empty glasses and setting them aside, she lies down on the floor, pillowing her head on Emily’s lap. Unsurprisingly, she’s the first to lose.

“My turn,” Beth says from the spot next to Chris, sending the circle a pointed look for dramatic effect. It doesn’t really work. “Never have I ever... Fallen in love.” She smirks, voice grave, eyes locked on Sam’s. Her throat locks up, cheeks pumping under Beth’s piercing gaze. A quick glance around and she notices that the attention isn’t on her, she has it all wrong, it’s on _Hannah_ who’s sitting right next to her. A shaky breath escapes her with the realization, freeing and forgiving. Hannah, however, is a blushing mess. “On three?” Mike’s voice cuts in, briefly looking at everyone. The crowd nods so he counts. She can’t quite see from behind her own glass but it seems everyone takes the shot. A collective smile rounds the circle.

“Well, I’m out.” Mike says while motioning to his empty glasses and pushing them aside. Emily and Matt seem to be in the same situation, earning a sleepy smile from Jessica. All eyes are drawn to the remaining competitors and their glasses, mostly the still full ones. Hannah notices the attention on her single empty victory. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo,” Sam says next, watching her friend drink with a frown. The rest of the semi-circle joins her in the cause. “Never have I ever been at the top rank of a tennis tournament,” Josh adds, turning Hannah’s frown into a sheepish smile. “Never have I ever been above 5’8 and gorgeous,” Ashley speaks in with a friendly laugh, sending the twin a grin. “Actually,” Josh interrupts with a raised glass, “I’ll drink to that.” Chris raises a glass of his own and clinks it against Josh’s before the two of them join Hannah, turning them upside-down in near-perfect synchrony.

“Guys, I can’t take it anymore,” Hannah whines behind her row of mostly full glasses, giving her friends a pleading look. Sam rubs a hand on her back while Josh sneaks beside his sister, finishing off a couple of her drinks and passing some to Chris as well. “What are you talking about?,” he says through a hiccup, suppressing a gag, “you’re done, sis. You lost, look at that.” He motions vaguely at her empty glasses and she rolls her eyes. “You dorks,” she laughs, leaning on his side.


	11. In formal wear

Her black dress is the finest of her wardrobe, adorned with delicate black roses on the edges and lace underneath the folds, giving it volume. Silk, knee-high and beautiful, half-underneath a thick wool coat. His outfit matches hers in its plain and standard design, the blackest suit available, even darker than his eyes, overlaid with a heavy blazer. He looks good, his parents say even good enough to be her pair if he would just wipe that scowl off his face. “No,” is his reply, “no, this is fucking bullshit. This is bullshit. They’re not dead, my sisters aren’t fucking _dead_. I’m not going to a living person’s funeral, this is so fucking— _presumed_ dead means nothing.” He’s restless, kicking snow up with every step and stomping instead of walking. His mother reprehends him for spilling snow on his expensive suit as well as her dress while his father remains silent, wholly ignoring the tantrum.

Sam feels a little out of place, relating to the Washington’s grief more than Josh’s anger, but remaining uncommitted to it like his father. His mother’s attempts at calming Josh down and reasoning with him all go in vain, if anything they make him more upset, more violent, so Sam remains drawn to herself. She stays quiet during the entire walk to Blackwood Cemetery, where his parents decided would be the most appropriate place for this, since the two girls went missing on this mountain not eight months before. “They’re still _out there_ and you’re here wasting your goddamn time. They could be waiting for us at the village by the foothill, you ever thought of that?” His voice is loud and demanding, echoing through the frozen trees, scaring away small animals that quickly scurry through the bushes for protection. His mother is visibly annoyed, probably because she’s dealing with him by herself. Sam wonders why his father is so silent while this happens. “We’ve sent search parties _everywhere_ , Josh, even to that village. Your sisters aren’t there.” Stern and firm, his mother turns back around to face forward as they begin to enter the graveyard. Josh doesn’t look content with this but says nothing else, just huffs and scoffs instead.

Their friends are all there for the ceremony with most of their parents, too. All the ones that could attend. The ones that couldn’t, their children got a ride with the ones that could. Sam’s case. The Washingtons didn’t mind, they were more than happy to fly with her. They’ve always been so partial to her, more drawn to her than any other of their children’s friends. Even more so when they caught her and Josh exchanging kisses in the kitchen last winter, now the looks she gets from them are always accompanied with wide grins. It makes her blush every single time but she doesn’t mind. Sometimes she even likes it.

The ceremony is silent, save for the priest speaking in everyone’s behalf. It turns out to be longer than Sam thought it would and her attention quickly shifts from those big words to how tense Josh is beside her. Both hands in his pockets, closed in fists, and a permanent frown on his face. He’s furious, indignant, but knows better than to ruin something as important to his parents as this, no matter how much bullshit he thinks of it. He’s having a hard time just standing in place, without kicking snow or letting his anger flow someway else. She sneaks a hand from her coat and carefully touches his arm, caressing it in an attempt at calming him down. It doesn’t seem to work at first, so she squeezes it instead. That makes him exhale, which is something. He doesn’t peel his eyes from the priest, doesn’t look at her, but their arms remain linked for the rest of the ceremony.


	12. Over the phone

“I’m gonna tell you... Some real freaky shit right now,” his voice trembles through the speaker, setting her heart off, “and I mean, some _real_ shit. You have to believe me. I’m—I’m _not crazy_.” The statement alone is enough to make her worry. Creases form on her forehead, between her brows, as her jaw sets. “I see them,” he says after her silence, “my sisters, I _see_ them. I know it sounds crazy but I’m really serious. I’m not messing with you.” Her entire body is frozen. Her blood is the only thing running in her veins while everything else doesn’t dare disturb the cognitive synopsis failing a mile an hour in her brain. Motor skills are wiped out. She’s immobile. “What?” Her voice is closer to silence than the presence of the dead. She shivers. “I see them in the house, in their bedrooms, sometimes I see them hopping down the stairs, crumbling, melting down the steps, dripping and howling and—and...” There’s a pause. “I don’t think they’re dead, Sam. I think they’re trying to tell me something.” He sounds so serious, it only makes her bones chill further. She’s not comfortable. Maybe he’s off his meds, just talking crazy and she shouldn’t listen to him. Humor him but don’t listen.

“Is that right, Josh?” She speaks slowly, clutching the phone to her ear. She’s never been this tense before. “ _Yes_ ,” he says from the other end, almost shouting. “The... The visions, what are they telling you?” She’s trembling, her breathing is ragged and her knuckles are white. She _feels_ white, pale, on the brink of fainting. Should she even be humoring him? This doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know, I’m not sure but I think they’re hurt. Very hurt, probably still in the woods. We need a better search party, they can’t give up on this. We _have_ to find them, Sam, before it’s too late.” He’s rambling, growing quiet, probably in thought, already plotting the next expedition to Blackwood. She swallows thickly, feeling her heart jump up to her throat. “When is it gonna be too late, Josh?” Soft voice, harsh words. He needs to understand, he needs to accept the high probability of his sisters having passed. He’s quiet.

“We’ll know when it comes,” he says after a moment of reflexive silence, “we’ll just know.” She frowns, glad he can’t see how tense she is, how hard this is for her. The things that need to be said at such a high cost and risk. Naturally, it’d be up to her to do it. She’s been dreading this moment for a long time. “The funeral was last month, Josh. Eight months of unsuccessful searches seem to be long enough time for everyone. Presumed dead means they _are dead_ until proven alive. So far, we have no proof.”

From the other end, he’s repeating “no” over and over, laced with “you’re wrong” every now and then. It hurts, hearing his shaky voice and choked out sobs. It hurts for both of them but someone had to do it. Someone had to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being away for so long! I had some technical difficulties with my computer, piled up on college work, that stopped me from posting for a while. Hopefully my computer is alright now. I can't promise to post once a day but I will update this more regularly from now on. If you want to talk to me, send me a message or ask on tumblr. I'm gaylussacia there. xoxo!
> 
> PS. The short chapter isn't because of my unofficial hiatus. I've actually had it written for a long time now, along with a few others that are to come. It's just short because c'est comme ça. Please enjoy!


	13. On a date

Five days, a hundred missed calls. Unseen texts, no explanation. She’s worried sick, cut off from him again for what seems to be the millionth time. He always does this, make her worry, make her emotionally exhausted over him only to ignore her feelings afterwards, after he shows up alive and fine, after so much time gone in crippling silence. Worrying silence. Her feelings, her questions, her infinite tries to get him to open up and _talk,_ invalidated. Should she even be trying anymore? Does he have the right to affect her like this, this much, to the point she can barely sleep at night? If anything, it’s all her fault, really. For letting him affect her that way. She has the right to worry and wonder but let him completely drain her isn’t a good idea, it’s not good for her. It’s been taking quite the toll on her, actually, as of late. No sleeping, barely no eating and of course no attention in her own life. It’s all going to shit, her grades, her social relations and her own body.

In all honesty, who the fuck knows what he’s capable of after finally having it hammered in his thick head that his sisters are gone forever? What he’s capable of doing to himself. Maybe to someone else but she’s really only worried about him. Waking up to the news of his death feels like a closer reality with each passing day and that is _terrifying_. Mind-numbingly terrifying but what else can she do? She calls, texts and knocks on his door. No answer, no sign of life anywhere. The next step would be to break in and that’s when she stops herself. She needs to draw a line. Worrying and obsessing are very distinct actions and she’s getting them confused, she’s getting them all mixed up. She needs to let go, for her own good. Just let go. Stop calling him when he clearly won’t answer and stop texting him when he’s obviously trying to stay away. Stop, just stop. Stop going after him. Stop. He will call when he wants to talk and he will text when he wants to bond again, when he wants her company again. If he’s alive or dead, well, she won’t know until he texts her back, calls her back—or not. But he’s always called back, hasn’t he? Even if it’s taken him a week or two, he’s called back. He’s texted back. So, really, what’s she worried about? Calm down. Live life and stop chasing pavement. Stop going after a boy who clearly doesn’t feel the same. She needs to give herself some credit.

A trip to the nearest bookstore for a good novel and then to the closest café for a nice latte to go with it, a treat to herself. She needs to heal and propping a book up while sipping on hot coffee is just the way to do it. Today is going to be different, she thinks, and she’s right—today is when he finally calls her back. She doesn’t know until she’s two chapters in and two thirds of the cup down. Her pleasant mood goes right out the window, soiled by the caller ID before she even answers it. She might as well, now that there’s nothing else to ruin. Voice flat and humorless. “Hi, Josh.”

His voice is just as flat, except far more tired than hers. “Hey, Sam. Do you wanna hang out?” On second thought, he sounds sad. Defeated. She almost feels bad, but then she remembers her own fatigue and sleepless nights wondering if he’s still among the living, and she doesn’t feel bad for him. She doesn’t feel bad at all. “I’m at Starbucks, if you want to come over.” If sounds could shrug and care less about his showing up at all, then her voice would be it. She’s almost offended that he doesn’t mention her twenty missed calls but, honestly, that’s whatever. It’s whatever because he doesn’t have the right to mess her up anymore. She won’t let him. “In Glendale?” He asks a little shocked, as if she hasn’t lived there her entire life. “Yes, the one closest to my place.” There’s a pause. Silence in which he ponders if spending forty minutes in a cab or over an hour in a bus only to come see her is worth it. He ponders, and she feels it, every second of it, until he finally speaks. “Alright, be there soon.”

During that half hour, she thinks. She looks out the window and lets her mind wander. Cars pass by and people pass by and she thinks of earlier this year, when Josh got his license revoked, weeks after his sisters’ funeral. Nobody really filled her in on what happened, Josh himself skirted around all of her questions and only told her that he couldn’t drive anymore, for a while. Until he was stable again for a few months in a row. When she asked him what made them take his license away, or what that meant, he didn’t respond. All he said was, “it just happened.” That’s what she hears in her head, the day they find him dead on the ground, bleeding across his expensive bathroom tiles, all they’ll say is, it just happened. Why did it happen? Who let it happen? How could they have prevented this? It just happened.

Her cup is empty and her book is closed when he sits across from her, looking small in that thick jacket. Dark hair hidden under a beanie and plaid shirt poking out of the jacket, collar flipped down. He smiles and she can’t help but smile back. “You look nice,” he says after a moment, glancing at the thick scarf around her shoulders, too big for her. It’s his, after all. Used to be. “You do, too,” she says in return, smiling a bit wider but still not even close to the size of her regular smile. She doesn’t feel like her regular self. Her careless, cheerful self. She’s somber today. They both are, she can see it on his face. Feel it in his voice. Neither of them are trying to hide it anymore.

God, she’s been waiting for this day.

“Why did you ignore my calls?” She might as well say it, it’s now or God knows when, and he’s not saying anything right now. He’s just sitting there, looking guilty. There’s no skirting around it anymore; she’s fed up and he sees it. “Sorry,” his voice is small, directed at the tabletop or maybe at his hands underneath it, “Sorry, I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling well.” He swallows thickly, meeting her eyes again. There’s gravity in them, in the crease of her brow. “How?” Simple, up for interpretation. He takes it however he wants, he answers it however he feels like. He exhales silently. “I—,” he stops and hugs himself, holding the stare, softening his voice to a whisper, “They’re dead, aren’t they? They’re dead. I get it now. They’re not coming back.” Her frown deepens and tilts upward along with the tug in her heart. So he was coming to terms with that reality in the past few days, why didn’t he say it? One text, half a second on his phone that would’ve saved so many nights from being spent in sleepless worry on her end. He thinks of nothing, no one, past himself. She gets it now.

“I would love if you had told me that. If you had answered my call and told me that.” She sounds bitter, she knows, but she can’t help it. She _feels_ bitter. Now he has that guilty look again. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says but, no, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. “What are you so afraid of, Josh? What are you so afraid that I’ll know if you talk to me?” Her voice is hostile, very hostile. Silence. She’s staring hard at his face, searching what’s given to her with his eyes down at his hands and the beanie covering most of him from this angle. He doesn’t feel guilty, she realizes. It’s something else. “You’ll know the truth,” he says quietly, lifting his shoulders in that defensive manner, “You’ll know just how fucked I am in the head.” He’s scared.

“I told you I see them. Did you think I was joking? Did you think I was making that shit up, or that it was all in a dream? I wish. I wish I was fucking dreaming. I wish those monsters didn’t feel so real, didn’t look so...” He pauses. Shakes his head, covers his face in both hands and sighs in them. Tired. He’s tired. “They haunt me. Not just Hannah and Beth, everything haunts me. I’ve always seen shit, lurking in the shadows and crawling over to me. Saying things, horrible things, in a language that doesn’t exist but I understand anyway.” He drags both hands down his face, rubbing his eyes with them. Their eyes meet and he’s frowning, afraid. “You’d try to kill yourself, too, if you had seen what I’ve seen.” Her biggest fears, the source of her endless nightmares, the reason she can’t sleep at night worrying—it all hits her square in the chest, like a bullet. It knocks her out of breath, freezes her on the spot. He folds his arms and rests them above the table, dropping his eyes again as she sits there, mute. Too shocked to offer support or compassion.

“Josh...” It comes to her, after a full minute or two. Her voice cracks as he looks up at her, sad eyes over dark circles. She frowns. “Josh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happens to you, I... I want to help. Please, in any way I can. I don’t want you to feel abandoned when you need someone the most. I want to be there for you.” Without breaking eye contact, she reaches across the table to take his hand and squeeze it. He holds back firmly. “It’s ugly,” he says in a small voice, “Really ugly. I don’t think you’ll look at me the same way again.” She squeezes his hand tighter, brushing a thumb across the back. Something inside of her is afraid of the implications, of what’s to come if they really do this, but she’s brave. If there’s a way to keep him alive one more night, she will do anything it takes, as scary as it might be, as ugly as it might be. She will save him. She will be there. She won’t be shut out again. “I think we can pull this off, Josh,” she says softly, matching his voice tone with a small smile, “We can do it. I’ll be there.” He mirrors her smile with one of his own, eyes growing glassy. “Would you like that?” Her question is a whisper only shared between the two of them. His reply is a nod that she’ll keep for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be raunchy. I'll pump up the rating for it.


	14. Doing something hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally just sex.

His lips are pressed hard against hers, hard enough to feel his teeth but not touch them. She hisses from being trapped between his body and the wall, her back catching on something sharp above the hip, probably the light switch. They’re standing right next to his bed, why did he pin her against the wall? She bites his lip in rebellion, drawing a small gasp from him that she covers with her mouth. Nails on his back and raking down his stomach, she slips fingers past his waistband and muffles his sharp intake of air on her tongue. He bites her, grabs her by the hips and pushes her harder against the wall, nearly dry humping her thighs. She grins against his lips, he’s so cute. The light switch bruising her back begs to differ, digging deeper into her skin but she doesn’t care. Not when he’s kissing her furiously, urging her on to slip her hand further down. She grins and kisses him and removes both hands from him entirely. He breaks the kiss.

When their eyes lock, she has both hands fisting his shirtfront, pulling him up against herself. He’s towering over her, confused for a split-second before she pushes him back with full force. She watches him reach for her while falling, trying to pull her along but failing. It’s beautiful. He looks furious for a second until meeting her grin, contagious. He’s defeated. She joins him on the mattress with each leg on one side of his waist, ass sitting on his stomach. He reaches up and closes a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her down for a kiss, which she takes. Wet and messy, tongue meets lip meets tongue as she rides his shirt up with both hands and he tangles both of his in her hair. She’s unconsciously rutting against his stomach but he doesn’t mind, he arches up instinctively and misses. Breaking the kiss, shirts and hoodies are off and thrown aside, kissing resumes. Deeper and sloppier, she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and he swallows her grin.

She sits back on his stomach and a look of discomfort briefly crosses his face. It’s probably the hard denim between her thighs burning his bare skin. His hands leave her hair for her bra, rather than her jeans, so she knows he’s fine. She smiles, running a hand through her hair and brushing it back for a show while he unclasps her bra and pulls it down, tosses it carelessly aside. Hands on her breasts, brushing her sides, he watches her from below. She arches her back and shakes her head so her hair won’t look too messy, blonde curls falling gracefully all around her face, framing it in gold. She doesn’t know, but to him, it’s just perfect. He licks his lips and watches her shiver when his thumbs touch her nipples. It goes straight to his dick. She notices, she knows, by the way he bites his lip. She dives back down for another kiss. Lips clashing, skin tugged and pulled, she busies herself with his mouth as his hands travel down on her, touching goosebumps under his fingertips. She grabs his jaw with a hand when he grabs her ass with both of his.

Pants off, underwear on. He notices that her pink panties are a match with her discarded bra and smirks up at her, meeting her smile through a faint blush. She drags her palms along his chest, pushing herself down until she’s sitting on his crotch. He catches a breath in his throat when she sinks on him, adding pressure, rutting her ass against his cock only apart from her skin by two thin layers of polyester and cotton. He swallows hard, she grins. Fingers digging in his lower stomach as she grinds rhythmically against him, making his eyes roll back. “Fuck, Sam, don’t.” He breathes, grabbing her by the hipbone and pushing her further down, holding their hips together in a lock. She licks her lips, biting back a smirk. “Don’t what?” Her voice is faux candor as she rolls her hips and watches him whine, fingers dig deeper in her skin. “Tease,” he replies breathlessly, looking up at her. His eyes are clouded with lust, masked by a pitiful look that compels her to obey. She raises her hips from his and slides off her panties.

It doesn’t take him half a second to have two fingers up in her, loosening her up, working her wider. She throws her head back and hums, running both palms down herself, touching her own breasts and stomach until meeting her clit. She stops right before it and grabs his hand instead, pushes it further up in herself and flicks his wrist just so the heel of his palm is pressed up against the clit. She bites back a smirk, locking eyes with him. His cheeks are burning and his hips are threatening to thrust up in the air any minute now. She giggles, matching his blush as he adds a third finger and curls them. That’s when her head rolls back and she openly moans. He’s not thrusting them in as much as she’s riding them herself, sitting back and pushing forward, sighing and humming and moaning. She’s ready, his fingers are obsolete, so he pulls them out at the first gap of her synchronized hips. The lack of warning gets her by surprise, earning a small gasp out of her quickly followed by a mock mean look.

He’s grinning, edging on a laugh and she rolls her eyes. Her hands slip past his navel and to his underwear, pulling it down. He lifts his hips to help her. When she’s in this mood he knows that, from this point forward, he doesn’t have much else to do other than lie back and watch. It’s how she likes it and, honestly, he’s more than just okay with it. It’s hot and he gets front-row tickets to it so he’s not complaining. She throws his underwear somewhere and straddles his hips before closing a palm around his cock. He bites his lip, keeping both hands on her knees out of anywhere better. They lock eyes as she strokes him, once and twice, slow at first but then quickly picking up a decent pace with her wrist. It’s good, he’s burning, his skin is on fire and his nails are digging in her knees. He breathes out a moan, two, then bites his lip harder and muffles the rest. Dark eyes caught in the shiny hazel of hers, only broken for a moment as his back arches off the bed instinctively. That’s when she stops and shifts her legs around again. He frowns up at her, breathless, opening his eyes just in time to see her sit down.

She’s as warm as she’s ever been, and he stretches her out as he’s always done. She sighs and he whines, her back is arched and his hands are glued to her upper thighs. She sits, she moves and he groans, eyes closed, brows furrowed, cheeks pumping. She grins and her hips move and his do, too, so she pins him down on the mattress. Both hands flat on his lower stomach to stop him. She holds him there, she holds him down as their hips begin to meet, faster each time, better each time. She rolls and she moans and she sits, bounces, rides him with a solid rhythm, solid enough for him to follow with ease when she lets go. So she does, she straightens her back and throws her head back, brushing hair out of her face with a hand as his hips begin to meet hers halfway, just as rehearsed. She smiles up at the ceiling, grabbing her own hair and looking down at him through slitted eyes. He’s biting his lip and digging sharp nails in her thighs. It’s delicious.

Groaning, panting, moaning and whining. Guttural sounds, low, high-pitched, careless. Voice or noise, it’s all a blur as skin slaps on skin and the room doesn’t have enough air to fill their lungs. She’s breathless, he’s panting, but they’re moving together, they’re moving in synchrony and she’s tight around him and he’s deeper inside her. Shorter recoil, shorter breaths, tense muscles and loose throat. More whines, louder, together, and then silence. Breaths, breathing, finally full lungs as the world goes quiet for a while. Her body slacks and she lies clumsily next to him, half on him and half next to him. He touches her back with a hand, tired, and she appreciates it. She touches his chest back with as much lack of enthusiasm as they begin to cool down, breathing in silence, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dark Souls III came out last week. Guess what I've been doing all day.


	15. Drunk Arguing

She didn’t mean to fall asleep for so long. It was supposed to be a quick nap, or not even a nap, just her lying on the bed for a second to relax. She closed her eyes in a longer blink than usual, ended up not opening them immediately after, and teleported five hours into the future. Bra marks around her chest, wrinkled clothes and heavy grogginess welcome her as she comes to. She sits up and runs a hand through her hair, too tangled to do much with, uncomfortable. Her phone pokes her in the hip so she fishes it out of her pants, reluctant to set it aside. It’s half past eleven, maybe Josh is still awake? He’d like to know that her flight was rescheduled. She unlocks the screen and texts him but he doesn’t seem to be online. She calls, no answer. He wasn’t too happy about her flying across the country for an academic fair but... He’s not mad at her, is he? She tries calling again to no avail. Maybe his parents are still awake, he’s told her time and time again that they’re always up late discussing business and working ahead, so she might as well take the chance. She calls, Melinda answers near-instantly. Any sort of hesitation still inside of her vanishes with Melinda’s voice.

Josh’s mother is a natural schmoozer, meaning she talks more than necessary and for longer than necessary, especially when she’s in a good mood—two qualities that Josh resents. She always _sounds_ like she’s in a good mood, though, but by now Sam can see right through her, can tell how she really feels. From her tone, tonight isn’t a good one. She answers Sam with halfhearted delight in her voice, as polite as always, but making quick and snappy small talk rather than dragging it on. She doesn’t even mention Sam’s involvement with her son until Sam asks of him, which is a clear indication that she’s just about ready to get this over with. So she tells her that he’s sleeping over at Chris’ house tonight because, apparently, Sam got into a flight earlier today. How is Connecticut, by the way? Rainy at all? Sam explains that no, the flight was rescheduled and she’s still in Los Angeles for another few days. Melinda hums in acknowledgement, wrapping up the conversation right in succession. Sam doesn’t mind.

Chris’ house. It seems Josh was more bothered about being alone this weekend than he let on. He was upset when she told him about it—“Four whole days?”—but she didn’t think it would be so bad. She didn’t think he’d take it so harshly. Sure, she might be blowing this out of proportion and he’s really just hanging out with his best friend, but somehow it feels like it’s more than that. Like he’s desperately seeking for someone’s company. Maybe it’s how fast he got Chris to hang out with him today after she told him she couldn’t. He doesn’t answer his phone when he’s upset, is that a clue or a stretch? If he’s not picking up, then maybe Chris will. She calls him instead and, unlike Josh, he picks up at the second ring. The deafening music bleeding through the speaker is a clear indication that Josh lied to his mother’s face. The suddenness of it makes Sam jump and keep the phone away from her ear. Sleepover, alright.

“Hey, Sam! Are you there already?” Chris is shouting at the top of his lungs but he sounds genuinely happy to hear from her. She smiles despite the annoying music tearing her head a new one. “My flight rescheduled,” she explains in a raised tone, not shouting, just using her outdoor voice. There’s silence on Chris’ part, as in a gap where he doesn’t speak and the music leaps from background noise to foreground noise. She briefly wonders if he can’t hear her and is still waiting for her reply. Should she repeat herself? She’s about to when the music suddenly becomes fainter, muffled as if by a door or wall. Chris left the party. “Hey, sorry, I couldn’t hear anything in there. Did you say it rescheduled?” He sounds as annoyed as she feels. She lets out a breath. “Yes. Where are you?” Is Josh even with him? She wouldn’t put it past him to drag Chris to some trashy party that he never wanted to be a part of in the first place. Josh is one of those people, even when he still had his driver’s license. “At a club, we got here a little while ago. Josh is somewhere in there.” Of course.

“Do you wanna talk to him?” Chris asks out of politeness but she knows that, if she says yes, he’ll go back in there and look for him anyway, against his better judgement. She wouldn’t put him through that, though. It’s not that important. “No, it’s alright. Let him know about my flight when you see him again, will you? He’d like that.” Chris hums in agreement from the other end and she briefly wonders if he’s even remotely enjoying himself. He’s there against his will, that’s obvious, but how okay is he with that? How much of it is him wasting his time and how much is him hanging out with his friend? She feels at least partially responsible for this, if Chris is Josh’s backup plan for some company tonight. She should be in his place. “Are you by yourself, Chris? After Josh ditched you.” They might’ve taken Ashley along, she’s sweet on Chris and usually not one to turn down a dirty party. Maybe Mike or someone else is there, too. “Yeah, but it’s fine. Why?” Shit. She shouldn’t feel guilty about this, it’s not her fault. Her involvement isn’t enough to make her one to take the blame. “I’m just curious...” She bites her tongue, adding the next sentence despite herself. “So there’s a seat for me in the car, yeah?”

She shouldn’t have done this. Taken a shower, gotten dressed up, put fresh makeup on and curled her hair. So much work, so much wasted work and effort for something that should never be happening. She’s taking a bus there, she’s such an idiot. She doesn’t have to make Chris company and she doesn’t have to ride in his car. If she’s going, she should at least be driving herself over, but no. Two mistakes in one sentence and a third because she stuck to it all instead of calling Chris right away and saying, sorry, just kidding. What was that? It actually wasn’t for real. Ha, ha. Well. She sighs, glancing at her smudged reflection on the bus window. At least she looks nice, all cherry lips and fluffy hair. Nicely winged eyeliner, too. If none of this is self-indulgent, she might as well give herself a self-esteem boost, if nothing else. To make it worth all the trouble.

Chris isn’t hard to spot, he’s literally the first person she sees once entering the club. He’s standing by the fucking door waiting for her. Is he really that lonely in here, that desperate for any sort of interaction with the outside world? Suddenly she feels a lot madder at Josh and a lot better for coming. The bus money and entrance ticket feel worth it now. “Hey, Sam!” Chris greets her with a hug and a wide grin, glancing her down afterwards. He gives her a thumbs up and a face that says, “Nice.” She rolls her eyes, smiling regardless as if to say, it’s nothing, but thanks for the compliment. It’s appreciated. “You don’t look half bad yourself,” she says back to him above the blasting music and he gives her a little bow in response. She laughs.

They split a drink and stay at the bar upstairs on the rooftop, where the music isn’t so loud and the night sky is visible. The cigarette smoke is quickly swept away with the chilly breeze and there are way less people up here, probably because of the cold. They don’t mind it. She taps her cold fingertips on her glass as he tells her a story about the last time he, Josh and Ashley came here. Both of his hands are in his pockets but he’s not cold, he doesn’t look cold, he’s comfortable. It’s a nice temperature out here and, in any case, the alcohol helps keeping them warm. Chris only has a glass of martini—because she wanted to split it with him, she wouldn’t drink it all by herself, it’s too bitter—and nothing much else because he’s the designated driver. She tells him she can drive if he wants to have another drink but he refuses. Please, it’s his treat. She shrugs agreeably and orders something else, something sweeter for herself. He has a sip, it’s her treat, and wraps up his story. Then follows it with another one. She orders drink after drink and listens to him, listens to all of his endless stories, watching his lips and laughing at his silliness. Chris is sweet, she understands why Josh used to have a crush on him.

It’s a little before four in the morning when Josh calls him. He’s done with the club and wants to crash, Chris tells her, says it’s verbatim. She laughs and takes his arm as they both get up. She sways, he holds her still, and they manage down the stairs together. She’s not drunk, she notices. She’s tipsy. Blissfully tipsy. She wouldn’t have made it down the stairs if she were drunk, with or without help. Not on these tiny ass steps that are barely wide enough for her heels. Who built this, a child? She’s frowning, eyes fixed on the ground as they reach the first floor and begin to push their way through the crowd. Arms linked as to not lose each other, they successfully shimmy over to the exit.

Josh looks surprised to see her, as surprised as she thought he would be. She gives him a wide, mellow smile as he envelops her in both arms. He squeezes hard and she laughs, letting her knees buckle a little and her arms hang loosely by her sides. The heels make only her chin press against his collarbone rather than her entire face, so she peeks at Chris over his shoulder and gives him a smile. He smiles back, tossing his car keys up in the air and catching them repeatedly. “Are we going or what?” He says without malice, making Josh break the hug to look at Sam’s face. He ignores Chris completely. “What are you doing here?” He’s frowning a little and there’s wonder in his voice, edging on suspicion. Her dopey smile widens. “My flight rescheduled,” she replies in a laugh, shrugging with her words and giving Chris another look, “let’s go.”

“You didn’t think to tell me?” Josh says once they’re in the car. He sat in the back with her for some reason, leaving Chris to chauffeur them home. To his _own_ home, for the sleepover that she _wasn’t_ invited to. Embarrassing, not to mention Josh’s rudeness. Why does Chris even talk to them? “I did, I called Chris and told him to tell you, but then, I thought, you know what? I could just show up there. Tell him myself. Make Chris company, also, because Josh is a selfish ass. So, here I am. And there I told you about the thing.” She gestures vaguely with a hand, not fully aware of the words coming out of her mouth. In retrospect, she might be a little drunker than originally thought. He gives her a frown. “I’m not selfish,” he uses an offended tone for this, “Chris and I were just hanging out. What time did you get home?” She snorts, probably too loud because it makes Chris shoot them both a look through the rearview mirror. Josh doesn’t notice it, his eyes are trained on her face. “Oh my God, Josh, please. You know Chris hates clubs. Plus, you fucking ditched him thirty minutes into the hangout.” Her sigh is loud and tired and she rests her head in a hand. He opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off to answer his question, raising her voice to speak over him. “I got home at six, I think. I don’t know. Does it matter? I’m still here, my flight still rescheduled. That doesn’t change anything.”

“I _didn’t_ ditch him, I told him I’d be on the dancefloor and he said he didn’t want to join me—,” he begins, offended and loud, but she briefly cuts him again with, “You _knew_ he wouldn’t, he never does!” Her input doesn’t faze him, though, so he continues, louder than before, “—and that is _not_ my fault, he _wanted_ to party at the club, and why didn’t you _fucking_ call me?” He’s shouting at this point, which only makes her shout back at him. Chris turns on the radio but neither of them actively notice it. “I _tried_ , only about a million fucking times! Do you ever pick up your goddamn phone? That’s why I called Chris, because he answers! Oh my God!” She throws her arms up in the air before resting a palm on her forehead, watching as his face grows redder and he turns on his seat to fully face her. “I meant _before_ we got to the club! Right after you got home, at six, why didn’t you call me then? I’d have answered! I was _home_!” His voice is hoarse and he’s leaning toward her across the center seat and she wants to slap his face the closer it gets. “Boohoo, I didn’t _know_ you were home. I passed the fuck out when I got home because _some people_ have busy days, you know, studying and working hard. No, you wouldn’t know. You don’t do _shit_ all day and then bitch at me for calling you at a bad time. Bad time for _you_ , I earned that nap and I need another one right now.” She sighs heavily, turning to look out the window because she can’t look at him anymore. Another second and she would physically explode.

The car is suddenly quiet afterwards. That’s when they actively notice that the radio is on. Chris turns it down, though. Just a little. “That was uncalled for.” Josh says after a moment, voice small and hurt. It makes her cheeks burn in shame and guilt as she turns back to look at him. He’s the one turned around to look at the stars this time. She doesn’t know what to say, her brows furrow and she’s gaping slightly, speechless. Silence, so he talks again. “I mean, that’s true. You’re right. I guess, well, maybe that’s why I don’t wanna hear it.” He shrugs loosely, sighing. Her heart aches in her chest. “I’m sorry, no,” she speaks softly, reaching a hand to touch his arm, “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Josh, c’mon.” He flinches away from her, taking his arm from under her grip and keeping his face to the window. She bites her lip and scoots closer to him. This is her fault. “Baby, no. Look at me.” She touches his face, grabs his jaw to make him turn around but he slaps her away, frowning. “Stop it, Sam.” He’s serious and reserved and she feels powerless to revert this. Chris keeps quiet behind the wheel.

When they reach Chris’ house, after parking on the driveway, Josh is the first to leave the car. He swiftly crosses the lawn and climbs the little steps, stopping by the doorway on the porch because he doesn’t have the key. Only Chris does. Without looking at either of them, though, he stuffs both hands in his pockets and raises his shoulders so the jacket’s hoodie will cover his neck, waiting. Waiting for Chris. He listens as Sam and Chris close the doors and lock the car, Chris starting lethargically toward him in succession. Sam stops him after a few feet but her voice is too low to hear and Josh doesn’t turn around to give them the light of day. It doesn’t matter. He’s not that interested, anyway.

“I’m not sleeping over,” she says quietly, watching surprise lift Chris’ brows, “I’ll just say goodbye to him before taking the bus, okay? Sorry for anything.” Chris doesn’t question her. In other circumstances, he might have, but not tonight. Not after what happened in the car. So he just nods a bit and hangs back, lets her cross the front yard to the porch without him. She stops by Josh and gives him a tender kiss to the cheek. He gives her a broken look in return. “I’m going home, it’s late. Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll call you tomorrow.” She speaks softly and carefully and he frowns. He stops her when she begins to leave. They exchange a brief look before he leans down and kisses her once on the lips, chaste and sweet. She smiles up at him as they part. “Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is so busy, sorry for the long gaps between chapters!


	16. Kiss and Tell

She fixes her hair on the mirror and reapplies day-old makeup on her face, looking herself over, grimacing at the reflection. Sloppy, but it will have to do. A hand brushes the wrinkles off her shirt while the other briefly brushes down her skirt. Is the puffiness of her eyes too noticeable, is it that big of a giveaway? God, she hopes not. It looks like her mess of a hair is a bigger one, though. Bigger than the words _I just woke up_ printed across her forehead, and as effective as if it were on a shirt. So, put it in a ponytail. That’s her solution to every hair problem she’s ever had, just put it in a ponytail. She does, and it’s awful, it looks so bad, but it’s the only way. For now, just until she arrives. Then she can _really_ fix it right before class. Will anyone notice that she’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday?

“Margarine, not butter, on whole grain. The orange juice is downstairs but I can bring it up.” The voice of her savior—and the reason of her demise—enters the bathroom through the deliberately open door. He sets her plate on the counter by the sink and they share a quick thank you, you’re welcome kiss before he’s already turning to leave. She yanks him back by the elbow. “That’s fine, I’m just going down. Does this look too bad?” One index finger points at the crow’s nest on her head as she reaches for the toast. He looks reflectively at the hairdo for a second, followed by another and a couple of fleeting emotions projected on his face. Far too many conflictive ones. She swallows down the toast mostly without chewing first (a mistake). “No—well,” he makes a face that gets her reconsidering this ponytail, “... Ah, it’s not too bad. Not... _Too_ bad.” This is bad. She glances at the clock on her phone and panic settles in. The second toast goes down nearly as a whole piece (also a mistake) to save the time she doesn’t have. She should’ve sent him for the orange juice. “Fuck,” she breathes, through a throat mostly clogged with dry toast, “This is why I don’t sleep over on weekdays, Josh, _fuck_.” Tap water is as good as anything to solve this, so she has a handful or two before wiping her mouth and getting rid of that awful lipstick in the process. He looks more amused than worried.

By the time she’s hurrying across the foyer to leave, her phone rings over the sound of Josh begging to come with. He always does this, as if he’s a lapdog that she’s leaving behind for work. Once or twice she’s brought him with but that’s one mistake she’s not making again. She tells him no and walks to the door while answering her phone.

“Hey, Sam! Can you talk?” It’s Ashley and her voice almost distracts her from the fact that Josh is following her outside to the porch, ignoring the violent way she’s shaking her head. “Sure thing, Ash. What’s up?” She tucks the phone between her shoulder and neck while both hands search the bottom of her purse for the keys. Ashley sounds delighted. “Great! So, I _heard_ ,” whenever she hears something it usually means that Chris told her, “I heard that you and Josh are officially dating now. Is this true?” The words make Sam halt in the middle of the pathway to the street, letting Josh beat her to the car. She comes to in a second and motions for him to get back inside. He motions for her to unlock the car. “Well, uh,” fuck, “Who told you this?” Chris. But is anyone else thinking the same, and did he spread it? This couldn’t have been less solicited by the two involved. “That doesn’t really matter. Maybe I’m just wondering,” liar, “So is it true?” She doesn’t know. In reality, neither of them do. They’ve been a _thing_ for a long time, longer than she can remember, but they’ve never established a word for what this thing is. Maybe they _are_ dating, maybe they’re not. What made Chris spread this around _now_? It feels like he’s been blind for twenty years.

“Maybe,” is her reply as she gets into the car and fails to keep Josh from joining her. There’s silence on the other end during the time it takes her to turn on the engine and exit into the street. “You can talk to me, you know,” Ashley says, sounding a little upset, “I won’t tell, I’m just curious.” Apparently, Chris doesn’t count. Sam shakes her head. “I can’t confirm what hasn’t been confirmed,” she says before glancing over at Josh on the passenger seat, silently watching the neighborhood pass by out the window. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to listen in, which is good. The last thing she wants is to have this conversation right now. “Can I call you later, Ash? I’m driving.” _And I’m late_ , she almost adds. It’ll be counter-productive if she does. “Well, fine,” Ashley says pensively, “Just make sure to have a confirmation when you do.” That might take a while, she thinks. That might take a long while, but, “Sure.” If Ashley so insists, in a year or two she’ll call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter.


	17. Cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of self-harm.

Quiet. She finishes the chapter and closes the book, like she promised herself she would. No more reading past bedtime, no more letting her eyes wander off to the next page and drag on for the following twenty. That gets her nowhere in the night, only pushes bedtime onto the morning and makes her late for college again. Counter-productive for all intents and purposes, so she closes the book and sets it aside, rather proud of herself. Silence. She snuggles further into the covers, lying down with them up to her neck and around her head, covering her ears. Fluffy and comfortable and warm. She sighs in contentment, reaching back to turn off her lamp. Too quiet. Her arm halts midway, her eyes flick over to the empty side of bed. What’s taking him so long? A small part of her tells her it’s nothing, he’s fine, but the winning majority is lit up in concern. She tries to shake it off with a long sigh and flicks the light off, snuggling up in the covers again. Eerie silence. She turns around to glance at the hallway, watch the sliver of light cutting it through the darkness. The bathroom light. Why is he so quiet, what’s he doing? She hugs herself, frowning, giving in to the morbid thoughts flooding her head. Maybe she should check on him. He hates it when she does that but, really, she can’t help it. She can’t help it. She tosses the covers aside and gets up.

He's crying. The closer she gets to the bathroom door, the surer she is of it. The clearer his sobs become. She opens the door quicker than ever before, gasping loudly at the sight behind it. Blood on his hands, dripping from his wrists, coloring the tiles between his knees. He's crying and sobbing and whimpering in the center of the room, straddling the floor. His forearms are shaking, his shoulders are shaking, and he’s falling apart. He glances up at her, watches her through thick tears as she extinguishes the gap between them with two big strides. She kneels down and throws both arms around him, pulling him against her chest, cuddling and rocking him. He sobs and she shushes him softly, tenderly, pressing his face on her neck. She rubs his back quickly, worriedly, and it does wonders to soothe him. He begins to breathe again, in big sighs. She nods frantically and rubs his back some more before relocating her hands. Relocating them to his wrists, grabbing and squeezing them hard, making him hiss. Making his arms shake harder and his hands lose blood circulation. His heart skips a beat, he thinks he’s going to die. It’s in the way he starts to cry harder. Her warm hands burn his skin raw and he whimpers helplessly. “You’ll be okay,” she says quietly, with a tremble in her voice that goes unnoticed by him, “you’ll be okay, baby, you’ll be okay.”

He really will. This isn’t the first time, and she likes to believe it’s the last, but he will be fine. He’s always been, he’s stronger than he knows. She kisses the top of his head as his tears lessen and his sobs disappear. They stay like that for a while, in the silence of the bathroom, holding each other, listening to each other breathe. Soon, his is just as calm as hers. He’s coming down, he’s coming to, and the blood is starting to dry. This is good. She smiles into his hair and closes her eyes, breathing him in. Glad that he’s still here.

It’s a couple of hours later, in the dimly lit kitchen with only the two overhead lamps above the counter on. She’s standing by it, leaning her hip on the edge and blowing on her tea while he sits there in silence, staring deep into his mug. Still in shock, forearms wrapped up safely, resting on his thighs. She watches him, not breaking the silence. He hasn’t moved since she placed the mug before him. This would’ve seem odd in other circumstances but she’s no stranger to the post-crisis shock that overcomes him every single time. It scared her in the first time, of course it did, but she’s far over it. She’s—well, she would never admit it, but she’s pretty experienced in the whole process of it by now. The soothing, the first-aid, the strangeness afterwards and the comfort. How shaken he gets and how remorseful he looks, he feels. It still breaks her heart—there won’t be a day when it doesn’t—but he’s getting better. It’s only a relapse in the process of growth, of healing. It happens, she’s fully aware of this, and it’s going to be okay. She’s talked to Dr. Hill in person and he’s explained everything to her, the procedures and what to expect and what are the good signs and the dangerous signs. This is okay. Josh is going to be alright.

“I’m sorry.” It’s small and hoarse and expected. It’s always the first thing he says when this happens. She smiles softly, reaching a hand to touch his shoulder, to show him that she’s here. “It’s okay,” she replies with matching softness, squeezing his shoulder a little bit. They breathe in the silence for a moment before he looks up at her with round, sad eyes that stab her right in the chest. No matter how many times he gives her this look, she has a feeling that it’s always going to pain her. She places her mug beside his on the counter and steps around it, over to sit by him. He leans closer to her side when she reaches an arm across his shoulders. With his head tucked under her chin, she squeezes him closer. “It’s alright, baby,” she whispers, quietly. Then adds, a little less quietly, “I love you.” He sighs, long and loud, calm. Finally, finally calm. “I love you, too.”


	18. Family time

She helps set the table, it’s only the least she can do for the hospitality. The Washingtons, all three of them, insist that she doesn’t, please, they’ll do it. She’s the guest, she should never be setting up the table. Now Joshua, he should. He never _does_ set the table, isn’t that right? Never washes a single dish in this house, either, which is ironic, considering the amount of time that he spends locked away in here. He wants to argue this, he’s biting his tongue and the struggling constraint is written in the scowl of his forehead, but he just rides it out in silence. He rolls his eyes and sets the table alongside her, despite himself. She laughs, watching the displeased frown spread on his face. Adorable.

Dinner is Italian takeout but it somehow tastes better in expensive silverware. She doesn’t know who to compliment for the food so she settles for a generic and small, albeit heartfelt, “this is really nice. Thank you for having me over, Mr. and Mrs. Washington.” They give her matching smiles that reflect how accomplished they feel as hosts, even though neither of them actually cooked anything and Josh is really the one who’s hosting her stay this evening. Still, it puts the table in a pleasant mood that the couple enjoys. “It’s a pleasure having you, dear. You’re always welcome in this house, do remember that.” Melinda speaks sweetly before taking a sip of her wine. Her kind eyes are on Sam’s, which makes her miss the look that her husband passes from behind his own glass. “Oh, I’m sure she knows that.” Bob’s eyes proceed to lock with Sam’s and bring color to her cheeks. She only smiles sheepishly before glancing down at her plate in embarrassment.

“Don’t be bashful, now,” he continues after a moment, “I meant that in the best possible way.” She looks back up at him, offers him a less hesitant smile, but still refuses to actually say anything. It’s not as if she does have what to say, anyway. Beside her, Josh looks a little disconcerted, but mostly confused, and chooses to stay silent as well. Melinda, though, has a question of her own. “Are you being cross, dear?” She shoots an accusing look at her husband, although her voice is as smooth as an angel’s. Bob shakes his head lightly. “No, of course not. I’m only speculating,” he speaks between bites of his plate and sips of his drink, continuing carelessly, “She is around very often. Possibly more so than us. Now, I don’t have a problem with that, I just find it rather intriguing. Don’t you, honey?” The couple shares a glance before turning to look at Sam and Josh sitting directly across from them. Sam holds their stare for a total of five seconds, then drops it to nurse polite sips of her wine. Her heart is beating out of her chest, making it very challenging to not excuse herself to the bathroom. Josh is having a similarly tough time trying to look unbothered by all of this. “Dad, if you’re implying something, I don’t wanna hear it.” Despite the bite of his voice, his gaze also drops to his plate, unable to hold the contest. With this, the two adults proceed to resume their own dinner. Sam releases a breath, but only for a moment.

“I’m not implying anything, Joshua,” Mr. Washington’s voice is firm as he pauses to drink some wine, “I’m being very direct about it. Hopefully not indiscreet...?” He passes his wife a questioning glance that she responds with a negative of her own. It reassures him. Josh, on the other hand, scowls. “Over dinner, really?” He sounds offended and uncomfortable, shaking his head in disapproval. Both of his parents seem a little put off by it, but not too much. Bob shrugs. “Would you rather over dessert?” By his sly smile, that’s supposed to be a joke but it flies right over Josh’s head. Or maybe he’s just not in the mood to appreciate it. “No, it won’t make a difference. We’ll talk about it when we talk about it,” Josh scoffs in indignation, barely poking at his food anymore, “Now is just not the time.”

Sam can agree with him on this one. They have nothing figured out yet. Sure, she sleeps over a lot. Pretty much every weekend, and a few other weekdays here and there, but in those cases it’s mostly visits rather than actually staying over. They go out a lot, too. Out in the city, at the campus, at her place. If his parents knew, they’d be impressed with the amount of time that they spend at the golf club. Swimming in the pool rather than playing golf, and driving the carts aimlessly around rather than to chase down balls. They do everything from holding hands at the mall, to cuddling on the couch, to fucking in his bed. She reminds him to take his pills and holds him when they don’t do much for him. He reminds her to not be so hard on herself and wipes her tears when the world starts crumbling down on her. She takes care of him and he takes care of her. They share more than just a bed together, but they don’t have a name for it. Sure, there _is_ a name for it, but they haven’t gotten to it yet. Not just yet.

Mr. and Mrs. Washington exchange glances but don’t further comment on this. The subject is fortunately changed for the rest of the evening, the lawfully wedded asking Sam about university and her future career, which eventually exhausts itself and breaks into two lines of dialogue, two with their office issues and the other two with their common interests, such as going upstairs and leaving the dirty dishes behind. Josh’s parents don’t mind it, they say that they will take care of it, although Josh knows that they’ll put everything in the sink and leave it for the housekeeper to clean tomorrow morning. He doesn’t care. He takes Sam’s hand and walks her up the stairs and she can’t help but pay attention to the knowing look that his parents exchange. Admittedly, she kind of likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody.


	19. Having coffee

Her frustrated scream is muffled by his mattress, and the fact that she’s face-first into it. A sigh follows, indicating imminent defeat. She’s done, she can’t take it anymore. Really, this first year as a Responsible Adult TM will age her tragically quickly, and it’s already showing on her face. Always clouded with tiredness and a dull glow rather than the lively, shiny self that she used to be. University was bad, but the workplace is even worse. All of her old friends seem to agree, especially Mike. She could barely handle veterinary, no wonder he’s losing his shit trying to become a medical doctor. It’s funny, she remembers when he wanted to be a politician. Always running for class presidency and building a good name for himself. She wonders what changed... They don’t talk as much as they should. Pretty much everyone fell out of contact after graduation—well, _their_ graduation, not Mike’s. He still has a couple of years to go, right? She’s pretty sure that his course is longer than hers.

“Hey,” Josh’s voice flutters down from above, “Let’s go for a walk. You need a break.” The mattress bends where he sits next to her and she sighs again, further defeated. She flips over to lie on her back and stare up at him from behind mussed hair. “But the meeting is tomorrow—,” her sentence flies out the window as Josh mimics her voice, repeating what she says. Pushing forward would be the same as trying to argue about inflation with a child, so she stops herself and sits up beside him instead. It’s no use fighting it, so she might as well indulge him with this. Who knows, she might even end up having fun. Nothing is guaranteed but he’s probably right. She could use a break from these infernal papers.

The weather outside is nice. Thick scarves and beanies on nine people out of ten, up and down Rodeo Drive. It’s not very windy, but the sun is just about setting, so it might pick up a little later on. She almost looks forward to it. They hold hands down the street and window shop for the most part, stopping a few times to point out some items and ponder about buying them. Josh’s answer is always yes, go for it, while hers is always no, wait, hold on. If she isn’t the one keeping their money intact, nobody will, and contrary to popular belief, she doesn’t have two famously rich parents to support her like he does. Critically acclaimed movies and an entire company aren’t in her name.

When the wind picks up, they get inside a small café and order. Soy latte for her, cappuccino for him. Their booth is right by the window, which allows her to watch the street as Josh texts on his phone. People come and go in a hurry, fastening their coats closed and pulling up scarves over their noses. It’s cute and makes her smile in the warm atmosphere of the café, sprinkled with the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods. Josh notices her grinning and puts his phone away. “What are you smiling about?” He asks with a smile of his own, drawing her eyes to him. This warms her up further as she shrugs. “You were right,” she says lightly, watching the shine in his eyes as he looks at her, “I needed this. I feel better already.” She reaches across the small table and grabs his arm, squeezing it with affection. He covers her hand with one of his own. “I knew it.” His grin, his eyes, the way he looks at her, his presence... She lets out a long sigh, infinitely glad that he’s the one who she fell for, all those years back. Since then, her opinion of him might have twisted and changed, but the core of it never has. The raw sentimentalism regarding him has always been the same.

Their orders arrive and her hands are quick to close around her cup. There’s silence as they blow into their drinks and have a sip or two, ultimately too hot to drink right now. She lets the cup rest on the table, warming up her fingers, and watches as he burns himself. The face he makes gets a small laugh out of her. “Dork,” she comments briefly, meeting his eyes again. He mock frowns for a half second before breaking into a grin.

For a while, they sit in silence, stirring their respective drinks and watching the natural hustle and bustle of the café. If it wasn’t for him, she would never have known of this place, and if it wasn’t for her, they would never have gone inside. It’s funny, in a way, how their opposing natures complement each other. He knows Beverly Hills on the back of his hand but she’s the one driving them around. He has entire wardrobes organized by seasons but she’s the one who knows how to match the pieces. Similarly, she owns a whole shelf of perfume bottles but he’s the one who knows them all by scent. This small café has grown on them ever since Josh found out that he likes their coffee, which is a rare occurrence, and Sam likes their vegan snacks, another rare occurrence. It’s also just a tidbit special because they stumbled upon it together. It’s their little place.

She watches him try the hot coffee again and burn himself a little less. She laughs. “You’re such a mess,” she says over the rim of her own cup, seconds before burning herself as well. That sends him reeling. “Oh, shut up.” She can only roll her eyes as he does his best to keep the laughter discreetly behind a hand, which evidently doesn’t work. It gets her giggling a little, too. He doesn’t laugh often enough. “I want to ask you something important, you dork! Get serious for a second!” She scoffs, but she’s still smiling. She means the words but only half-means the second part. He obeys anyway, needing only a few moments to recompose himself. They stare each other down, her with both eyebrows up expectantly and him with a huge smile on his face. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t start up laughing again, so they’re good. She can go on. She actually didn’t mean to bring this up today, or here, but it just seems like the perfect opportunity. So here goes nothing.

“Okay, well, listen closely....” She licks her lips in anticipation, thinking over the words and studying how the smile slowly fades from his face as he settles into the moment. “As you know, we’ve been hanging out for a while now, mostly at your place... Never much at mine, with the roommates and such, but... Well, that’s what started it. The roommates. Ever since I finished college and got a job, I’ve been able to pay rent by myself, you know? I just... Don’t see a reason to continue living there. It just feels like they’re part of my old life, of the whole university thing, which is kind of old by now. So,” she exhales deeply, watching the intensity of his eyes grow with each word, “I talked to my parents a couple of weeks ago and they agreed with me that I should rent an apartment for myself. Which means that, if you want, you can come live with me.” The words roll out of her mouth through a blush, and she shrugs dismissively, in an attempt to downplay how big of a step this is. It doesn’t work because his eyes are huge and he’s in complete shock. Her blush only worsens.

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to, it’s just... I just thought it’d be a cool idea, you know? Just,” another shrug, “I don’t know.” She’s almost breathless. From across the table, he’s smiling again. His eyes are lit up as he grabs both of her hands, passing the excitement to her via contact, filling her lungs with air. She grins. “I think this is a great idea,” he says while squeezing her hands once, making her squeeze back. She wasn’t this excited about it before his reaction, but now she’s practically bouncing on her seat. If it was up to her, they’d move in tomorrow.


End file.
